2 Tbsp Elephants
by Double Dog
Summary: Wilson tries to make dinner. House provides diversions and obstructions.


_Peanut oil  
Dash of sesame oil  
Minced garlic  
Minced ginger  
Crushed red pepper flakes  
Cashews_

Wilson stood back for a moment, watching as the oils in the wok began to acquire the faintly glassy look of high heat. He savored the silence, the scent of the peanut and sesame essence beginning to blend together, the act of creation about to take place.

This was his favorite time lately -- a rare moment alone in the kitchen before House got home, a long day's work of death and a few instances of life behind him. The last of the late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows, bringing a soothing, diffuse light to the room.

He picked up the square wooden cutting board and scraped the garlic and ginger into the hot oil. They danced and spat, turning white in the bubbling heat. He used a big wooden spoon to stir them around, careful not to let the spices burn. The zesty chili fumes tickled his nose as he shook a healthy measure of crushed reds into the pan.

When the ginger and garlic looked sufficiently done he threw in a handful of raw cashews and kept stirring. The aroma of the nuts and cooked spices filled the kitchen, and he took a deep, easy breath.

From the front of the apartment there was the sound of a door banging shut, and a thump as a motorcycle helmet was tossed carelessly onto the entryway table.

"Wilson! What are you cooking in here? Smells like an MSG factory! We having puppy for dinner? Again?"

Wilson sighed, then smiled to himself. House was home.

_Diced skinless, boneless chicken breast, marinated in:  
1 Tbsp corn starch  
1 Tbsp dry sherry_

"You do know we can send out for Chinese food, don't you? There's this great new invention -- I hear Tom Edison wants to call it the _telephone_."

Wilson jumped a little at the sudden presence behind him.

"House, we don't have to eat take-away all the time. Besides, that stuff is full of more calories than we need. The oil is probably recycled God knows how many times, and yes, they're using MSG and you know how that makes my jaw ache."

"I know something else that'll make your jaw ache," House leered.

Wilson sighed and began scooping the marinated chicken into the wok. The small pieces of diced meat sizzled and popped as they hit the pan; ignoring House's baiting, he stirred the mixture, making sure the chicken browned but didn't burn.

House looked around.

"Music," he declared. "Man cannot cook without music. Your own Saint Julia said so."

Wilson opened his mouth to ask "When did Julia Child ever say that?" but House was gone. In the next moment he flinched as The Who came blasting through the apartment.

_Broccoli_

The chicken was browning nicely, and Wilson began chopping up some broccoli florets. Roger Daltrey was singing about the sound of old T-Rex when House re-appeared.

"Wilson!"

"House," Wilson replied, lifting the big Henckels chef's blade for a moment and pretending to test its keen edge. House was unperturbed.

"Napoleon," House said.

Wilson blinked.

"Napoleon?" he asked cautiously.

"You know," House said. "French dude. Crossed the Alps. Elephants."

"That was Hannibal."

House grinned at him, pleased. "_Napoleon_," he said.

Wilson sighed. "Moscow," he replied. It was the first thing that came into his mind, after ... elephants.

House shook his head. He picked up the yellow box of Argo corn starch and started squeezing it. The thin cardboard flexed; the fine powder inside made an oddly squeaky, scrunching noise.

"Snow," House said.

Wilson stared at him.

"It's what defeated Napoleon. _Tamed_ him, if you will. Or won't."

"House, are you --"

"I'm fine, Jimmy," House snapped before Wilson could complete the question. "Boring case this afternoon. C1 Esterase Inhibitor Deficiency. GP thought it was appendicitis at first, we were almost too late." He grabbed a handful of cashews from the open bag, tossed one high in the air and then caught it in his mouth.

"Achilles," he said, voice slightly muffled.

"Heel," Wilson responded. "Too easy."

House nodded, tapping him on the shin with his cane for good measure.

"House, I'm trying to put dinner together here."

"Where's the rice? Why don't you have rice cooking already?" House shook the cane threateningly. "I'm not eating my Kung Pao chicken without rice."

Wilson lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We're using the leftover rice from two nights ago," he said finally. "Now will you please --"

In the other room, the music had switched to The Beatles.

"Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?" House sang, in his slightly raspy baritone.

Wilson hid a smile as he stirred the chicken again. "With your history, you'll never _be_ sixty-four, so I don't have to worry about that," he said.

"Oh, Jimmy, so cold!" Another cashew found its way into House's mouth. "Wicked Witch."

"Dorothy."

House shook his head. "Water."

Exasperated, Wilson busied himself with the broccoli florets, dumping them into the wok and mixing them with the browned chicken. He needed to make the cooking sauce before House distracted him again.

_2 Tbsp soy sauce  
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar  
1 Tbsp dry sherry  
3 Tbsp chicken broth or water  
2 tsp sugar  
2 tsp corn starch_

Wilson frowned, looking around the kitchen.

"House, where's the sherry?"

"I think your mother drank it all the last time she was here. You know how she gets when she sees us ... together." To emphasize his point, he pressed Wilson close against the counter. "George Lucas," he whispered in Wilson's ear.

"Jar-Jar Binks," Wilson grunted. "House, I can't breathe." Pushing House away, he resumed his search for the fortified wine. "It was right here a minute ago," he muttered. "I was using it. Why do you have to rearrange the kitchen every time I'm cooking?"

"Keeps you on your toes. King Arthur."

Wilson found the sherry where House had stashed it, presumably while he'd been busy with the broccoli. He began measuring the sauce portions into a small glass bowl.

"Guinevere." _2 Tbsp elephants._ "Or Mordred," he quickly added, heading House off at the verbal pass. _Shit. 2 Tbsp snow_. He blew air out through his mouth, closing his eyes for just a moment._ 2 Tbsp soy_. Yes.

"House, put the lid on the wok so the broccoli can steam a little, please."

House grumbled but did as he asked. "Charles Foster Kane. Why are you doing this?"

"Rosebud. Doing what?"

"This healthy thing. It's not natural. Galileo."

Wilson shrugged, trying to concentrate on getting the cooking sauce to a smooth consistency. Corn starch could be such a bitch.

"It's better for us." He hesitated, not looking around. "Maybe I want you to live to sixty-four." Lifting the lid, he poured the sauce over the chicken and broccoli. "The Inquisition."

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," House murmured.

Wilson stirred, pushing the broccoli and chicken around to spread the sauce evenly through the pan. He risked a glance up; House was watching him, an odd look on his face.

"Anna Karenina," House said.

"A train. Life. I don't know. All we have to do is nuke the rice and we're ready."

The music was still playing. Eric Clapton was singing about their kid and how he was married to Mabel. Wilson was still thinking about elephants and water and ruby slippers and life, so he was startled to find House suddenly beside him.

"Superman."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Kryptonite," he said.

"Nope, try again." House was _very_ close.

"Lex Luthor?"

"Someone else." Wilson could detect the faint scent of House's shampoo -- something clean and cedar-y.

Wilson frowned. "Lois Lane?"

House's lips were next to Wilson's ear. Soft, warm breath brushed against his cheekbone.

"Jimmy Olsen," he whispered. "Once the Man of Steel realized the truth, Lois never stood a chance."

Then the breath was gone; House had pulled away, leaving Wilson stunned and shivering beside the kitchen counter.

There was a burst of sound as House turned up the music in the den and began to sing along with Donovan.

"Oh, Superman or Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me!"

House poked his head back in the kitchen and grinned.

"Better turn off the heat, Jimmy. Don't want it to burn."

fin


End file.
